My grandmother has no name.  I once was angry. How can anyone have no name? Then my brother explained that it was not an insult, not a neglect. Just was. There was a place for a culture where people were known as themselves, without a label called a name. That place was not far from Cassia Forest.

我的祖母沒有名字。我曾經很生氣。哪有人沒有名字？ 我哥哥跟我解釋，沒有名字，不代表不重要，不在乎。沒有是另一種存在。從前，有一個地方，有一種文化，人就是人，不用藉一個叫做名字的標籤去了解。那個地方，離桂林不遠。